Family Ties
by New Writer x
Summary: Catherine chandler has lived her life under the drunken thumb of her abusive mother. But when tragedy strikes, she's given a golden opportunity to escape. And she's not gonna let it slip past


**Hey guys new Story alert I know I still have to finish could it be? And NLTL but I just had to write this :) x and I'd like to give a shout out to one of my best friends and Amazing writer skullcandy216 for helping me with my grammar ❤️ U :) x **

**Sooo hope you guys enjoy and please review :) x**

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><p>No! Just ignore her...just run...fight it, fight the inner beast in you trying to claw its way out.<p>

A sixteen year old Catherine felt lonely as she sat on the ground inside her bedroom door, hands pushed against her ears trying to keep the screaming at bay.

"Stop...stop...stop." she repeated, over and over as she hugged her knees, trying to fight off the screams of her supposed perfect mother who brought her into this world.

_Pfft, if people only knew the half of what I've been through_, she thought. _They'd cry for me, do whatever they could to get me out of this hell hole...but even though you could scream and cry until your throat closes and eyelids won't open, they still don't come...no one _ever_comes._

She wiped her eyes furiously as her name was shouted.

"Catherine!"

She slowly stumbled to her feet, using the door frame as support. Releasing a shuddering breath, she slowly opened the door, only to be met by her mothers oh so innocent smile.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" she asked, the smell of alcohol off her breath evident as she pulled Catherine close.

_Pretending that she actually gave a shit about what happened to me _

"Nothing" she whispered, barely able to keep her tears at bay.

'Nothing'...that described everything in her life these days.

_I have nothing, I am nothing, I'm worthless, a nobody...a nobody who wouldn't be missed if I were dead, killed right in front of their eyes. A dagger through the heart...wouldn't make a damn difference._ _She'd still do what she does. Still say what she says, then act like nothing had happened._

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it, it was the drink and pills talking" Same old shit, different day. A re-run of apologies every couple weeks. Seemingly never ending garbage.

But she couldn't run away, Catherine knew that much. Couldn't run. Couldn't hide. No matter how much she wanTed to.

This is my nightmare. This is my hell. This is my life.

When Vanessa Chandler released her daughter from her arms, she flopped herself down on the couch and proceeded to open her third packet of cigarettes. She'd already sucked the life out of forty little cancer sticks, what difference would twenty extra make?

Catherine glanced around the room, spotted a few glass bottles tucked into the corner. Empty, of course. She closed her eyes, tipping her chin towards the ceiling as she drew in a ragged breath.

It was no use confronting her mother. She'd just continue. With the pills, and the alcohol and God knows what else. So Catherine left. Walked back into her room, her mother shouting after her.

"Catherine, be a dear and fetch another bottle out of the wine cellar." she'd ask. And Catherine should, because if she didn't then she was no child of Vanessa's. No way. A good daughter would _never_ disobey her mother like that. And Catherine was nothing if not a good daughter.

Apparently.

But Catherine didn't answer. She just continued to her room, shutting the door behind her. Sinking to the floor, weighing up her options as she stared at her mother's half empty pill bottle that would 'accidentally' bet left on Catherine's study desk.

It was like she wanted Catherine to take them Then at least she wouldn't be Vanessa's problem anymore.

But Catherine knew she was stronger than that. She crawled over to her cold bed and climbed under the covers, teeth chattering, the room so cold her breath clouded the space around her.

Her mother had spent the last of their benefits on Malboro Lights and Walmart's 'second cheapest wine'. Nothing left for gas.

So she wore what clothes she had trying to heat up her ice cold skin, teeth cracking together violently.

Just last week Catherine had been welcomed home to her mother prone atop her bed, dead to the world with a cigarette in hand. Catherine had yanked the blankets from beneath her and made a nest for herself on the living room couch. Because no way would she ever sleep in her mother's bed.

She wasn't exactly fond of sleeping in dumpsters.

Sighing, she held the scarf close to her neck and finally—finally—drifted off to sleep.

Everyday was the same for Catherine. She'd wake for school, work part time as a barista to earn whatever money she could. Though lately, she'd been wondering, what was the point? Every penny she eared was poured down her mother's throat.

But one night everything changed for Catherine.

It was dark one evening as Catherine walked home from school with her best friend Tess. The girls said their goodbyes and parted way, Catherine continued down the street towards the turnoff for Englewood, clutching her hoodie tight to ward off the biting wind.

Seconds later, she heard gunfire.

One shot, in the direction of—

_No_.

Catherine sprinted down the road, the thump of her feet against the uneven pavement matching the erratic thump of her heart. A car shot past her, a beat up old thing she barely noticed as she barrelled around the corner and up her driveway. The door was ajar, kicked off the hinges. Catherine's stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat.

Her mother lay on the kitchen floor, lifeless. Limbs strew like a marionette with severed strings. A pool of blood spread beneath her, circling her head like a crimson halo.

"Oh God." Catherine mumbled, falling to her knees hard beside her mother. Her fingers flew to Vanessa's throat, searching for a pulse and finding a faint thud against her fingers. "Shit."

A flurry of emotions whirled inside her. Unbelievable sadness. Fear. Anger.

Relief.

So much relief it made her sick. Made her so ashamed she could barely stand it.

She needed to get out. She needed to get out right fucking now.

Standing on shaking legs, Catherine grabbed her bookbag and raced to her bedroom. She spilled the contents onto her lumpy mattress and stuffed it full of everything she could think of. The money she hadn't yet handed over from last nights shift, her clothes, her phone. Lightweight food from the pantry and anything easy to carry that she could pawn later.

She felt disgusting. Like a thief in her own home.

But this was it. This was her chance. At freedom. At being fucking _free_.

Zipping up her backpack, Catherine pulled out her phone.

"911 dispatch, what's your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance." Catherine murmured, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice. "There's been a shooting at Eastwood Garden Estate on Lowe Avenue. Apartment 16B."

"Can I have your name, please?"

In way of a response she hit 'end call' and threw the phone into her pocket. No way was she identifying herself. It would ruin everything, land her in state care for the rest of her life. She raced out of her house, her only home. The only one she'd ever known.

With sirens blaring in the distance, Catherine ran. Ran with no particular goal in mind. No endpoint. No destination.

Just away.

And that's where she went.

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><p><strong>So guys what did you think? I'll explain more about Catherine's back story in the next chapter but please let me know what you think?<br>Please review  
>Until next time<br>New writer :) x**


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